My Last Summer

I’ll never forget that year. It was July 4^th, me and my best friend were still in high school. In the same town we grew up in, Bear Grove, California. Our town was small, but it had its charm. Every summer we would meet up in front of my house for a barbeque on the 4^th. We almost always were there. I loved July 4^th, the fun of it and its freedom, then combine it with food, friends, and fireworks! But little did I know, that my adventures were only beginning.

After we cleaned off our paper plates full of potato salad, French fries, burgers, dogs, and brats that my dad had made, we saw that the sun had gone down, and took positions to shoot off our fireworks.

Most people watched the county-backed shows at the lake in town but, not everyone did, not us. Firework launching is best when it’s a personal experience.

“Ready to fire these up!” I pointed toward our cache of fireworks, a couple of big boxes, sparklers, and firecrackers.

“Actually-” he opened a paper grocery bag and pulled out some extra, huge firecrackers, “I would like to set these off this year.”

“Okay!” I wasn’t about to tell him no.

We had a great time that night! The explosions rang out and echoed across town. We saw the sparks, the smoke, crackles, loud bangs, and a few near misses. We called out things like ‘For King George!’ or ‘Not today, Germany!’ before each boom. What could be more fun?! I did notice however, that Carlos was acting strangely.

Every now and then Carlos would light a firecracker and wait until the last second to throw it; this was not entirely uncommon, but it was tonight with the larger, more dangerous firecrackers. Every time Carlos did this, he managed to get the firecracker out of his hand just in time. Almost every time that is.

“Hey, I’m doing another one,” said Carlos, as he lit the fuse.

Kaboom!

“Fourth of Juuuly!” screamed Carlos. Amongst a few more crackles and smoke, my dad came over.

“Carlos, you need to stop this!” Dad said, somewhat angry.

“Alright, I won’t do it.” Carlos said evenly. “Well,” he smiled broadly, “maybe one more!” Before we knew it, he pulled out a huge firecracker and ignited it via a cigarette lighter. Carlos held it up at eye-level, proudly.

“Throw it!” My dad urged, getting more and more angry. Carlos turned his head the other way. “THROW IT!” dad yelled at him. This time, Carlos was not as lucky. The firecracker exploded in his hand. The mini bomb dropped, and Carlos let out a scream. We rushed my best friend into the house to get his hand and arm under some cold water and decide if he need to go to the hospital or not.

What was strange about Carlos’ behavior was -and if I were not his best friend, I might not have noticed this- he screamed, two seconds after the firecracker exploded. Most people would scream instantly upon feeling compressed gunpowder burn on their hands, but Carlos was perfectly still until he decided to scream.

Did Carlos fake his yell, and he was actually not in pain? Did he know that it would be expected of him to scream so that is what he did, even though he did not have to?

We cooled off his burn with running, frigid water and gave Carlos an ice pack to take home with him. My dad called Carlos’ family and let them know, both families agreed to have Carlos come home to decide if he needed to see a doctor or not. My dad hung up the phone.

“Your parents want you to come on home.” Carlos nodded, expecting that answer.

“Alright, I’ll walk.” He turned to the door without hesitation.

“You don’t want a ride?” I asked.

“No, I will be fine. No thank you.” He ran out the door, sprinted across the street. My dad and I looked at each other. Carlos had always wanted a ride home, what had changed? His house was still ten blocks away, a bit of a walk, and here he is running home at night? What’s going on with Carlos?

Just before he passed the neighboring houses, Carlos deliberately tossed the ice pack aside, as if he did not need it.

I had to know what was going on with my best friend. I texted Carlos the next day to see if he wanted to meet up at Jodi’s Malt and Shake Shop, he agreed.

I stumbled into the malt shop and found Carlos at a corner booth. My friend was finishing off a chocolate malt, which he clutched tightly in his right hand. I ordered a loaded caramel shake with extra whipped cream and sat down.

“How’s it going?!” I asked.

“Not too bad, yourself?!”

We exchanged pleasantries and a joke or two, then I got to the point.

“Carlos, I have to know, what happened last night?” Carlos stared at me and narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He signaled at a waitress and ordered a cherry vanilla malt, still holding the cup in his right hand.

“Don’t give me that, what’s going on with you?”

“I don’t have to listen to this. I’m leaving.”

“C’mon!” I couldn’t let him leave without an explanation. “We’re friends, you have to tell me!” The waitress dropped the malt off, and he took it quickly, no hesitation involved. I barely got a glimpse of his hand.

“Listen Raymond, I don’t have to do anything!” He stood up to leave. I was hurt and my face showed it.

“Alright fine,” I stood up in front of him, “You don’t want to tell your best friend, that’s fine with me.” I motioned for him to stop. I turned around and gave a loud hmph, then went to pay.

Before I left and changed my glass for a plastic one, I bought my friend and extra-large mint milkshake. Everyone likes mint milkshakes, right? I walked back to Carlos, who was surprised to see me. And defensive.

“Look, here’s one on me. It’s mint.” He grunted defensively and nodded but rather than place the cup on the red table, I popped the lid off and began to pour the milkshake on my friend’s lap. At least that’s what I wanted him to think.

If I had wanted to soak him in milky delicious yumminess, I would have moved quickly. But no, I was quite slow. In spite of my lack of speed, Carlos put his drink down and grabbed the falling cup with both hands.

“What are you doing?!” He yelled. The other customers turned to stare at the two loud, fighting boys. I dropped the other cup and wrestled the mint one away from him, then held four of his fingers in a tight grip and looked at his hand.

Nothing was wrong with his hand! No burns, spots, bandages, it was a completely normal, healed hand. The same waitress came back to ask us to leave.

“You boys need to get out of here! Causing all this stress-” I opened my mouth to respond but Carlos beat me to it.

“It’s alright, ma’am. It’s my fault, really. We will leave now.” The three of us walked to the register, Carlos paid for his drinks and tipped the lady generously. The other customers realized that the show was over and went back to their conversations. Carlos made for the parking lot, slowly this time.

“You’re not getting away!” I said, a little too loudly. He looked at me calmly.

“Why don’t we take a drive in your truck, real quick?” I nodded and we got into my orange pickup. I started the engine and looked at Carlos but rather than give a destination, he auto locked the doors, turned the music up, and looked around. “There’s something you should know.”

“What’s going on?” He looked around again, with a very serious look on his face.

“It all started a few months ago, my cousin and I were goofing off in the woods during a campout,” he lowered his head and continued, “we got bored and the boring adults were ignoring us. So, we decided to try ember juggling. I plucked an ember at him and if you do it quickly, it won’t burn you. Mike returned it to me and so on, all while the grown ups were getting drunk. I tossed him one at the wrong angle and it caught him on the eyebrow.” Carlos looked at me to see if I was still paying attention. I looked on intently.

“I got a little nervous, so I laughed and, Michael thought I was laughing at him. He came at me and threw a punch, so I hit him back. We kept fighting and well, we never hit each other so hard before. Out there in the woods I stumbled down a short hill, Mike fell with me. We were found hours later, passed out next to a huge slime mold.”

“A slime mold? You mean those yellow, pulsating nasty things?”

“Yes, but this one was blue, somehow.”

“What does this have to do with your hand not being burnt, or your change in attitude lately?”

“Those things shoot out spores and eat plants and what not,” Carlos lead in, “but they also make themselves dense and fluidic. I,” he paused and struggled to get the words out, “I, am always at a solid stone state. I’m invulnerable.” My jaw dropped. “You probably don’t believe me, but-”

“Well um…I’m still skeptical. But it makes sense, that firecracker could have taken your hand off.” He looked at his right hand.

“There’s something else.”

“More?!” He nodded solemnly.

“And thanks for listening by the way, it feels good to tell someone. Anyway, it’s Mike. My cousin Michael, he got the opposite ability. He can make himself light and turn into smoke, kind of like spores floating through the air.”

“I didn’t see this coming,” I admitted. Then it sunk in as to what my friend was really saying. Raymond Leon Becker, what did you get yourself into?!

“I don’t do anything with this new me,” Carlos lead in again, “but Mike, he, he’s a thief.”

“You’re sure of this?”

“He brags about it all the time. He floats into buildings, businesses, houses, then steals whatever he wants. Then he floats, or ‘vapors’ as he calls it, away before he can get caught.” I considered this information. That and the fact that I was still skeptical of what my best friends was saying.

“What do you want to do?” That brought up some anger.

“I don’t know! I can’t stop him; he’ll just turn into smoke when I get near! And it gets worse…”

“Why? How?”

“He threated my family. He said he would enter our house while we are asleep and find a way to kill us all! If I told even one person, one police officer, he would come for us!”

“Then you have to defend yourself. Don’t let him get away with this.”

“Fine, but what can I do?”

“We will think of something.”

“We?”

“Yes, you are my friend after all.”

We talked it over for a few more hours until, we knew exactly what to do.

Michael rode up in his brand-new Porsche, of which he “creatively acquired.” Two days had passed since Carlos had told me the truth. My best friend and I decided to put a stop to Mike’s criminal career right here and now. Michael, however, was here to conduct business. We got out of our cars and walked into the alley behind the malt shop.

“Out with it ‘Carl’, white boy, what do you have to say?” Carlos hated being called ‘Carl’ or white boy. Carlos ignored this taunt for now.

“Michael, cousin, we came to make you an offer.” Michael make an impatient gesture.

“You have the money?” Mike asked. I smiled at Mike, but he ignored me and only looked at Carlos. I handed Mike a brown bag with $50,000 in it.

“As a gesture of good faith, my cousin.” Mike took the bag, flipped it open and counted the bills. He smiled.

“Okay, I will listen to you. What’s this ‘offer’ you mentioned?”

“We want to work with you, starting by robbing Fourth Street Bank, then after that-” I would have continued but I saw that Mike still would not look at me or talk to me. I glanced at Carlos.

“What Ray said,” my friend added, “if we go in there as a gang, we’ll make off with every penny! Then, who knows? We can escape to the east coast, drive from Florida to New York. Or hit up some Caribbean Islands! And let’s not forget returning home to Mexico. How many girls are looking for a few guys like us?!” Michael’s smile grew but he was still unconvinced.

“How do I know I can trust you two? Carl, you haven’t exactly learned your new place in the family.”

“We did just give you $50,000.” I said, talking to the air.

“It’s one job cousin. You can go do your own thing after this.”

“Alright, if I wanted to do this, when would it be?”

“Right now!” My friend and I called out, excited. We went over our plan with Michael and what weapons we would use and, he seemed to like the idea.

It was 3:45 PM on a Friday afternoon, the bank was still doing business but would soon close. Because they were about to go home for the weekend, we figured the staff would be preoccupied. I walked into the bank, pretending to be hurried and nervous. They were about ten customers in there, three tellers, and an armed security guard.

“It’s not too late to make a deposit, is it?” I asked the teller. People who work in customer service always like to help the desperate and dumb.

“No, it’s not too late,” said the teller, while sporting a fake smile. I handed the teller my prefilled-out deposit slip and some cash, just like a normal customer would. Just then, two men burst into the room carrying AK-47s!

“FREEZE! NO ONE MOVE!” The bigger thief called out. The medium built thief calmly walked toward the teller counter, not far from me. All while keeping an eye on every else. He pointed the gun at the security guard and stared him down. The bigger man stepped forward, gun still raised, then addressed the customers. “Everyone on your stomachs, hands behind your backs!” He fired a shot to show that he meant it. The customers, myself, and security guard did as he asked, while the smaller man gave a note to the same teller. Said teller scanned the note then began unloading registers and the vault with his fellow staff.

Two large bags were brought out to Mike who took then in one hand, closed his eyes, and after a second turned into smoke. Mike then floated away as fast a bird, put the bags into my car, then flew back in. The process was repeated a few times but when we had just one more bag to move, Carlos pointed his gun at me.

“You! Get up, you’re coming with us!” I raised my hands. By now, Mike had gotten tired and landed next to Carlos and me, out of breath. The security guard sensed vulnerability and rolled onto his side and fired but, the bullets bounced off Carlos! Mike regained his stamina and casually shot the security guard, then loaded the car.

“No one move again or,” Carlos hit me with butt end of the gun then jabbed the barrel at my temple, “this idiot dies!” Mike stayed in the car. Carlos kept the gun pointed at me and because I was his hostage, no one in the bank nor the newly arrived police officers could do anything. We got into the car and started to drive off.

I was in the back seat and while Mike was the driver, Carlos in the passenger seat.

“We did it!” Mike Gloated. “Off to the Bahamas boys!” He floored the engine of my Chevy pickup.

“We’re not going to Cuba?” I asked, Mike turned his head halfway, surprised that I was talking to him and, that was all the time my friend needed. Carlos hit Mike in the head with the butt end of his gun and knocked Mike out. Mike had let his guard down, you see.

We tied Mike up and got out then waited for the cops to take us in and hear our story. Surely the cops would understand, right? And my dad would understand that I borrowed some of his money and guns, right? Should these authorities not be kind to us well, let’s just say it’s a good thing I have a super powered friend.